Aftermath
by BadWolfRising
Summary: A town struggles with their enormous loss and friendships are renewed, strengthened, and changed. Rated T for difficult subject matter. [DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. I just play with them.]
1. Chapter 1

I hate parties. Always have. First of all, parties involve nothing but standing around, making small talk and eating absurdly small food. Nothing "appetizing" at all about tiny samples of food. Just give me a good undercover assignment, a horse, a steak, and, most importantly, nobody else, and that's all I need. Although, tonight was a decent party – Carson is a respectable individual and he's done good things for Hope Valley.

Also, he's not a criminal. Which is always a good thing.

I hate criminals.

But tonight I'm enjoying myself. A very little bit. Hope Valley is full of good people and, I have to admit, that Rosemary Coulter can put on quite the party, even if she's rather…..much? And I always delight in seeing Abigail Stanton. That hasn't always been the case.

What happened with her and me…. was a mistake. One I was completely responsible for. Had I not been my normal secretive self and just told her about Nora and Martin, I could have avoided the whole situation. I confess, I'm not comfortable speaking openly of such private matters and, even though we were getting close, I wasn't ready to expose that part of me. Not quite yet. But I did and it blew up in my face.

It was a cowardly move and she had every right to be angry with me. I admit, I'm surprised that we're getting along as well as we are right now. After that fiasco, I never thought that she'd speak to me again. Watching her get close to Frank Hogan too was….disquieting. If I am to be truly honest with myself, I will admit that their friendship troubles me still. I don't trust him.

But I trust her judgment. So I will trust her to know what she's doing. Abigail does not relish interference in her personal life – especially from me. Elizabeth Thatcher, on the other hand, could probably burn down Abigail's café and she wouldn't be upset. Not that I would blame her too much. Elizabeth means well. And, truth be told, the woman she is today is very different from the woman I met a few years ago. I was truly delighted when she and Jack got married.

My only frustration with the pair of them was how long HE took to put a ring on her finger! I've told him that too. Many times. He just laughs. He knows he was as slow as a turtle trudging through molasses. Speaking of Jack, the town isn't quite the same without him. It'll be nice to have him back, I'm a bit weary of running Hope Valley on my own. The jail can be very boring at night.

I almost wish that AJ… NO, NO, I DO NOT. That woman's presence in my life has caused quite enough commotion. I really must be going a little mad if I am wanting her company back!

I wonder where Elizabeth and Abigail have gone – they've been out there for awhile…

All of a sudden, I hear a piercing shreak.

Instantly, my blood runs cold.

I've heard that kind of scream before. Too many times. Over too many good people.

 _No, no, no, it can't be_.

Even though I'm not much of a praying man these days, I whisper what prayers I do remember as I grab my jacket and bolt out into the cool night. The days are starting to grow shorter now and the light a little less bright. While the warmth of Indian summer still lingers, the nights are chill.

"Abigail? Elizabeth?" I call, trying to keep the note of fear out of my voice.

" _No, no, no, no, no_ …" I hear, just a frantic wailing and keening. I could barely recognize Elizabeth in this primal, mournful cry.

Even through the darkness, I could see the huddled mass of two bodies. And near them, just standing, hat in his hand, holding onto the reins of his horse, I recognize the familiar figure of a Mountie.

As soon as I see him, I know the truth.

Something I had not wanted to admit was possible, that _could_ be.

And the night grows colder still and the wind doesn't feel as friendly as it used to be.

I'm numb and, for a moment, I can't move. I can't breathe.

I didn't expect it to hurt like _this_. I didn't expect this sharp, twisting pain – like a leatherworker's awl punching holes in his material. _I never even got to tell him_ …

Taking a deep breath, I pull myself together. _Now is NOT the time_ , I whisper to myself, _pull yourself together_. I walk over to Abigail, who is holding a sobbing Elizabeth in her arms.

The Mountie is young, probably not much older than twenty. He's awkward and uncomfortable and I understand. This isn't an easy assignment (because that's what it is – no Mountie ever volunteers for tasks such as these.) It's clear he's not done this before. I wonder who trained him….and if I know him so I can tell him to prepare his Mounties better.

"Abigail," I say softly, touching her shoulder. She looks up at me from the darkness and tears shine bright in her eyes. She's not weeping yet and I can still she's trying to keep herself together to support Elizabeth. "Is it…" I ask, trailing off, wanting to _know_ but, at the same time, not wanting to know, what I knew in my heart was the truth.

"It's Jack," her voice was a thread, a faint whisper of its normal self, "there was a landslide…" And her voice catches. Her hand continues to stroke Elizabeth's hair but I can see the faint tremble in her fingers. Most people wouldn't catch that but I do. I see more than people think. Which is usually their undoing.

"Is he?" I already know the answer but I need to hear it. A truth unspoken is a truth non-existent. If something is unspoken, maybe it can be untrue…. Such a foolish hope – but the heart often makes fools of us all.

"He's gone." The tears she leaves unshed are in her voice. Upon hearing those words, Elizabeth, who, up to this point, has said nothing coherent, just keeps keening over and over and over… the pain is almost too much for her to bear. Abigail just keeps whispering words of comfort automatically, trying to press down her own pain.

"No…" Elizabeth cries dry, wracking sobs. Abigail whispers to her, "Let's get you somewhere safe and warm."

Elizabeth clings to Abigail like a sailor to a life preserver.

"Let me help," I say hoarsely, my voice almost unrecognizable. "Please."

Abigail looks at me, really _looks_ at me, and she must see something in my face, because she nods immediately.

I gently put my arm around Elizabeth's waist.

"Let's take her to the infirmary." Abigail whispers. "It's closer – and there's privacy. Lord knows the word will be out soon enough but, for now, let them enjoy their celebration." She closed her eyes briefly.

Her arm slides around Elizabeth's waist too, helping her up. And her hand touches mine quickly. It's just a flicker of a moment, just a brief clasp, but I feel strengthened by it. And it's a comfort to know that she _knows_ , without me having to say a word, the ache we _both_ feel. And perhaps later we'll speak of it – but for now, the knowledge is enough.


	2. Chapter 2

" _But I know there's a plan and so do you."_ \- Frank Hogan

DISCLAIMER: **I do not own these characters or the quotes from them. All credit goes to Crown Media, Janette Oke, Brian Bird, and the movers and shakers behind the television series.**

 _ **Abigail**_

When my Noah and Peter died, I thought my life was over. I wasn't a wife, wasn't even a mother. What purpose did I have? I was plunged into a valley of darkness. And it wasn't until a certain high society schoolteacher from Hamilton came to then Coal Valley, that I began to see the light in the dark. I found that, shockingly, the world didn't end just because _my_ world did.

Frank would say that there's a plan for everyone. That just because everything looks hopeless doesn't mean there actually _is_ no hope. We just don't have the big picture. We don't see as He does. I try to hold tight to that thought now. Because I _have_ to believe it's true. For Elizabeth. For….Jack. For Bill. For the town. For me.

As Elizabeth sobs against my shoulder, I hold back the tears I want, the tears I need, to shed for my friend. She needs my strength now, my support. My own pain will come later.

"This is so unfair," she sobs.

"I know it is," I say, stroking her hair. And I cannot find the right words to tell her that it will be all-right. Because, despite my faith in God's ultimate plan, I'm not totally sure I can tell her that. There's a large part of me that's angry. Angry that my friend is gone. Angry that my other friend is in so much pain. Angry that, once again, a good man is taken too soon. I may be a woman of faith but that doesn't mean I don't get fired up.

 _And I know I'm supposed to be strong and, do the right thing, but, if you want to know the truth, I am tired of being tested._

Words said in anger to Frank come back once again to my mind.

I am tired of losing people I love.

I am tired of being tested.

I hold my friend in my arms and all I can manage is a prayer of comfort, asking for strength and for Jack to be at peace.

Then I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Abigail." It's Bill Avery. Once a proverbial thorn in my side, I find that right now I am grateful for his quiet presence. His restrained reaction. Because I don't know how I would have handled a more emotional person. I don't think I'm capable of that right now.

"It's Jack," I choke out softly into the cool night.

Bill gets very still. The kind of stillness that is almost a physical presence. The stillness before a breaking storm, when the sky is a sickly yellow-green and heavy with rage. I've been in those storms before. We survive but not without damage.

"….he's gone," I continue, marveling that my voice doesn't seem to shake. Or, if it does, Bill does not notice or is, at least, kind enough to not say anything. "There was a landslide…" and my voice trails off. I'm not ready to speak it all out loud. Not yet.

"NO." Elizabeth's cries get louder. As if hearing the words is too much. Hurts too much to even breathe.

I know how that feels.

I was there once before, a long time ago. In another lifetime.

"Let me help." Bill's voice breaks in and he gently lays a hand on my shoulder.

It's surprisingly reassuring to feel him there. Somehow he grounds me so that I can pull myself together. "Let's get Elizabeth to the infirmary." I say. "Most people are still at Carson's party but I think she could use some privacy."

"Agreed," he responds and puts his arm around Elizabeth's back as I do the same. Bill's hand brushes my hand slightly and gives it a small grasp, which I find comforting and strengthening.

We put our arms around her and help her to her feet. Thankfully, the infirmary is not too far – which is a relief. Elizabeth can barely keep herself upright, the weight of the shock lies heavy on her shoulders. Bill and I, we keep her up. Her sobs are quieting now – I think she's running out of tears to cry.

Another feeling I know all too well.

But this is just the beginning. The beginning of many moments where out of nowhere, the smallest sound or smell will bring memories flooding back to your mind. Where you keep looking out on the horizon, expecting them to appear at any moment. You know, with your head, that they're gone. But your heart keeps looking. Expecting them to come around the corner.

And they don't and you crumple.

Grief is a fearsome thing. And it humbles us all.

We're finally at the infirmary. A journey of a few dozen steps feels like it has taken eternity. Never has five minutes felt so very long.

Bill manages to jimmy the door open – one of the many talents he has that I don't ask about. Sometimes not knowing is better.

"Let's put her here," I say, indicating the bed with two partitions on the side, "she can be relatively private here."

Bill nods and the two of us help Elizabeth over to the bed.

"Elizabeth," I say, as if to a child, "I need you to lie down on the bed. Can you do that for me?"

She nods and manages a slightly feisty retort, "I'm in pain, Abigail, not a child."

I know she doesn't mean to be unkind so I'm not angry. I understand. I never really cared to be babied either. And Elizabeth has probably had far too much of that her entire life – so, even now, in her pain, she slightly rebels against any coddling.

She lies down, her eyes still open, staring out into the distance, into a future without Jack. And the emptiness I see in her eyes hurts. Hurts as much as knowing that the only way our Mountie would be returning is in a box. To lay beneath the earth near the town where his heart lay. How could it be any other way?

Elizabeth starts to shake, even though she's heavily clothed. The night is chill but not so chill that she'd be reacting this way.

"It's the shock," Bill says, "does the infirmary have blankets?"

"It should," I reply, "I'll need to do some looking."

"Let me get Carson," Bill said abruptly.

"But his party…" My voice trails off when I realize how silly that sounds. But Bill doesn't judge me.

"He'd want to be here." He says kindly. "It's what he does."

I nod, realizing the sense in his words.

"Please get him, then. And Faith," I ask. Oh, dear Lord, _Faith_. She and Jack had been good friends. And Jack had held her in high esteem, a great compliment from the Mountie.

Bill nods. "I'll be back shortly."

"I'll be here." I look at him. "And, Bill?" He turns from the door way.

"Thank you," I say softly. _For everything_. I leave those words unsaid.

He gives me a faint smile, that doesn't reach his eyes. And I notice then the pain. That his eyes are bright with….tears? Bill Avery, near TEARS?

It is a measure of how dearly Jack was… _is_ … loved that his passing is breaking down walls that have been years in the building. Walls that not only could keep the pain away – but also prevent anyone from getting too close.

"No thanks needed." He says. "Jack said he'd always have my back. And I will always have his."

Neither of us comment on his use of the present tense to refer to Jack. It still hasn't sunk in that he's _gone_.

I simply nod. No further words are needed so I whisper a prayer as he walks into the night.

To get Carson and Faith.

And, soon, the whole town will know. It's just the way of things when you live in a small town. All news, good or bad, travels in seconds.

I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the storm to come.


	3. Chapter 3

" _The greatest gift we receive is God's love. The greatest gift that we give is the love we have for one another."_ – Frank Hogan

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

As if the hounds of hell are at his heels, Bill hurries into the night. He's a little surprised that it's such a normal night. When the world falls apart, you almost expect Mother Nature to fall apart too. But she stays constant – for the most part. So the night air is chill, with the bite of smoke and apple on the air. A few people have started lighting their hearths – but only a few, many of Hope Valley's residents are poor and want to save their wood and coal for the really bitter nights of winter.

Bill wishes there was a fire that could warm the chill in his heart. Because right now everything is cold. And dark. So very dark. Instead of the light that can usually be seen, there's nothing. He knows that's simply his perception. There are plenty of homes lit up tonight – even as late as it is. But the light doesn't touch his heart. Not right now.

He's not sure what Carson can do for Elizabeth – there's no medicine that can take away grief except for time. He knows that – even now, years after Martin's death, the gnawing and choking sensation can still take hold of him on occasion. Sometimes his loss hurts so much he can barely breathe. And he no longer wonders why Nora did what she did. People handle grief differently – and some can only deal by running away.

He opens the door to the saloon and there are still plenty of people there, laughing, giggling….children playing, without a care in the world. Life is hard in Hope Valley but people find the joy they can and grab it with all their might. Carson is engaged in conversation with Faith, probably about some recent medical technique.

 _They make a nice couple_ , he thinks, _lord only knows they both deserve to find some happiness_. Being the observant man, though, he notices that Carson keeps himself slightly aloof, not really engaging with Faith on a deeper level than friendship. He has a harder time reading Faith – she's so open and friendly that it's tough to discern what she truly thinks in a casual situation.

"Carson," Bill says, a little abruptly, as he interrupts the two of them.

Carson hears the undercurrent in his voice and immediately his attention turns to Bill Avery.

Carson Shepherd has been around enough people, both patients and families of patients, to know when something is terribly wrong, when someone is about to bring very bad news. He's _been_ the messenger of bad news many times, he's received bad news himself many times. So he knows The Look.

Bill Avery is hard to read but Carson knows what to look for. Even the most reserved person displays tell-tale signs when something is wrong.

"What is it, Bill?" He asks, in a low voice to avoid drawing any speculative interest from other people at the party.

"I need you to come with me." Bill responds gravely. There's an odd note in his voice and Carson almost can't put his finger on it.

"Has someone been hurt?" Carson inquired. "Are they ill?"

"In a manner of speaking." Bill answers, enigmatically, which frustrates Carson to no end.

"Don't prevaricate, Bill." He says in slight exasperation.

"This isn't the place." Bill says curtly. Carson examines his face and sees what he'd been looking for.

 _Pain. Deep pain_.

"All-right," Carson says, "I'll come with you."

"Am I needed?" Faith asks worriedly.

"Yes." Bill says simply. "Both of you."

Carson puts on his jacket, that'd been hanging over a chair. "Just give me a couple minutes to say my thanks and farewells to a couple of people." He says. "I'll meet you and Faith over by the door."

Bill and Faith walk to the door as they watch Carson make a quick circuit around the room.

"Bill, what is it?" Faith asks, in a whisper, as they stand next to the door.

"Wait until we get outside." Bill says and adds with a slight, wry smile, "people around these parts are a little nosy."

Faith smiles. "I wouldn't say nosy," she corrects him, "I'd say they are simply very invested in people's private lives."

"What private lives?" Bill chuckles a bit.

"Good point," Faith smiles, "nothing here stays private for very long."

A shadow crosses over Bill's face at these words and he frowns. By that time, Carson had made his way over to the door.

"I'm ready," he says quietly, "let's go."

Out in the cool night again, Bill takes a deep breath.

"Now can you tell me what's going on, Bill?" Carson demands, a bit sharply. "Why all the secrecy?"

"Because I know how this town is," Bill stops abruptly, "and I don't want this to spread before…well, before we've had some time to figure things out."

Carson waits impatiently, tired of all the mystery. He likes things straight forward.

"A Mountie came to Hope Valley tonight." Bill says tiredly. "He brought word from the Northern territories. There was a landslide and, in saving the lives of two of his men, Jack Thornton sacrificed his own. He's dead."

Faith gasps.

Carson has no words.

Stillness falls over the three of them like a blanket and for a moment, the only noise that can be heard are the far away sounds of night birds, crickets, and a lone owl crying mournfully against the black night.

"They say it's bad luck to hear an owl cry," Faith whispers, her voice shaky, "that usually means…"

"….death." Bill completes her sentence, "I know the superstition."

Carson hasn't said a word, his face hard as granite.

"The patient is Elizabeth, isn't it?" Faith asked, her heart aching for the young school teacher.

Bill nods.

Carson strides off to the infirmary, still silent, leaving Bill and Faith staring after his back. After a couple of brief moments, they follow in his footsteps. Bill tries to avoid looking at Faith but can't help notice the faint shimmer of tears in her eyes. She and Jack were friends, he knew, and she's hurting. But he admires her composure, knowing that she has to keep it together to be of any help.

Walking into the infirmary, both of them are a little stunned at what they see.

Carson Shepherd is embracing Elizabeth Thatcher, wrapping her close. It's not remotely professional and certain people of a certain mindset (*cough, cough* Hamilton high society) would be scandalized at Carson being so "improper."

But Bill's grateful. He's never been very good at comforting or receiving comfort himself. His prickly and standoffish nature push people away and he's reluctant to engage in physical expressions of sympathy. He's never really known how.

Elizabeth is shaking now. Bill can't hear her crying but he supposes she still is.

He doesn't blame her one bit.

 _Cry_ , _Elizabeth_ , _cry_ , he thinks. _You need it._

Carson pulls away from Elizabeth to look at her face. "Elizabeth," he says softly, "I know this is hard for you. But I need you to be brave for me, for all of us. Can you do that?"

Elizabeth chokes back tears, "I can't, Carson, I can't. Jack's gone. He's _gone_. He's not coming back. It's NOT FAIR." Her voice starts to rise.

Gently, he pats her shoulder. "I know. Life is bitterly unfair and cruel. You didn't deserve this. Neither of you did. But there's nothing you could have done. Absolutely nothing."

"You don't know that!" She sobs, "I could have at least TRIED to save him."

"Elizabeth," he says quietly, "there's nothing you could have done. You know as well as I do that when someone's time has come, that's it."

"It's cruel," she says bitterly, "God is cruel. Why would He do this to me?"

Carson puts his hand under her chin and looks her straight in the eyes, "I'm no preacher," he says slowly, "but I don't think God deliberately tries to make us miserable. Sometimes life just happens. And it hurts. And it's unfair. And it's cruel. But it's not because of God."

Elizabeth knows what he's saying is true but she isn't feeling it. Her heart is all darkness.

Jack, the love of her life, is _gone_. No more walks. No more rides. No house on the land Jack had so proudly bought for the two of them. No children filling the rooms of their home. That's all gone now. And her heart splinters a little bit more.

"What I need you to do now," Carson says calmly, "is rest."

"I can't," Elizabeth says, "I can't sleep. I can't. Don't make me."

The pain in her voice breaks Carson's heart. He knows the pain of losing a spouse too soon. He knows how totally and completely unfair Jack's death is. While he wasn't very close to Jack, they had been friends, once Jack had gotten past being a little territorial over Elizabeth. And Carson had admired and respected the constable greatly.

"Elizabeth," he tells her gently, "you're going to need all of your strength in the weeks ahead. You need the sleep. I can give you a little bit of laudanum to help you sleep temporarily. It's strong and shouldn't be used very often but under my supervision, I can give you a little."

"I don't want it." She says firmly. "I don't want to be drugged."

Carson's face is thoughtful. "Then at least let us make you some tea. And lie down."

Elizabeth can't argue with that and lies down on the bed.

"I'll be back," Carson gets to his feet and gestures for Faith, Bill, and Abigail to follow him.

"Carson?" Elizabeth whispers, so softly he almost doesn't hear her.

"Yes?"

"Thank you." Her voice trembles with exhaustion and grief.

He manages a small smile and grasps her shoulder lightly, "Don't mention it. We're all here for you. You are not alone."

As they walk into the kitchen, Elizabeth closes her eyes. And drifts away to a world of dreams.


	4. Chapter 4

_To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under the heaven; a time to be born and a time to die;_ _a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;_ _a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance_ – Ecclesiastes 3:1-4

Disclaimer: I own nothing! All credit goes to Crown Media and Janette Oke.

 _ **Abigail**_

As Carson leads us into the back of the infirmary, out of sight and earshot of Elizabeth, I struggle to keep my composure. I've known suffering too well in these last four or five years. It has been a faithful companion, always lurking in the background, waiting for a chance to make another appearance when I least expect it. I never saw this coming.

This was supposed to be a _safe_ mission. He wasn't supposed to die on something so simple. But of course he would die as he lived, as a hero. It never would have occurred to him to not try and save his men. That was just who he was. Never wanted praise or acknowledgment, but was simply content to stay in the background and help where needed.

And no one could ever fill the gaping hole that Jack's passing has left. I know that. It feels like a limb being cut off. Another limb won't – and doesn't – magically grow back to replace it. It's a jagged, dark hole that's been torn in the fabric of our town. How do we even begin to repair it?

"How is she, Carson?" I choke out, exhausted from the effort of holding back the tears I want to cry. I have to be strong, I have to be strong, I keep telling myself. But the walls I've built up are crumbling and the waters have built up behind them.

"She's in shock." He says softly. "I don't know what I can do to help her." Carson sounds as helpless as he did the time when he was grappling whether or not to help his sister-in-law. "I'm a doctor. I can heal the body." He says, frustrating lacing his voice. "But I can't do anything to heal the spirit."

"That's not true," Faith says softly, "your kindness and compassion, they're healing medicine too."

"She's right," I say, "kindness, empathy, compassion, love – that's what binds Hope Valley together. Those things are what have helped me heal after my Noah and Peter died."

"I just wish I could fix it." Carson is still frustrated. "At least as a doctor, I can stitch up the physical wounds, put balm on burns, perform surgeries. Right now, I can't do anything about her pain."

"She needs time," I say quietly. "Time, rest. The love of family and friends. She needs to know that she will never be alone. And she will need all of our help in the coming days ahead."

Carson stares out the window, "I know," he whispers, "I remember."

I remember too. The first weeks where I felt absolutely nothing. I existed only in a state of numbness, keeping myself busy every hour of every day so I wouldn't have to think about what my life had changed into. So I wouldn't have to think about the gap where Noah and Peter used to be.

And then there was the funeral. So many people. It was overwhelming, all the people. I could barely breathe between embraces and condolences that day. I think the pity was the worst part – seeing people look at me and wonder, "what does she have left now?"

After that…there was the silence. Everyone went back to their daily lives and the wheel of life just kept turning. They could move on as if nothing had happened. The sun still rose and set. The autumn came and the leaves turned from green to shades of red and gold. Nature didn't stop. And I felt like everyone had forgotten – but I never would.

How do you forget when your world just falls apart?

I am determined to be with Elizabeth every step of the way – through the numbness, through the chaos, and when everyone has gone back to the business of living, I will be there for her too.

I reach over and gently squeeze Carson's hand, to reassure him. "Your friendship and support is enough." I say.

"Yes, well," he pulls himself together, "I'm not sure I have any tea left. Abigail?"

"I have some at my café." I'm eager to get it – that way I feel like I'm actually doing something. And I want to get away from their observant eyes so I can shed some tears of my own. Before I have to be strong for an entire town.

And my children.

"I'll be back in a while," I say, quickly heading out the door.

"Abigail," Faith says softly, "be careful."

I smile in thanks, "I will."

I hurry out into the night. It feels like forever since that young Mountie rode into town but it's only been one hour or two? I'm not really sure. All I know is that it feels like an eternity.

And the days ahead seem insurmountable.

The thought of putting my friend's body into the earth, of never seeing his smile again, of watching Elizabeth try to cope with half of her heart missing…it's too much for me to bear and my tears start to fall.

I take a moment and lean against the nearest building and cry. No one's around, I think. It's safe to just let go. So I do. Because this is the only time I can let myself fall apart. That brief period of time where I am not needed. Where I can be _Abigail_ and not the mayor holding the town together.

I sniffle and look around, hoping no one sees. It's a petty thing I know but I don't like it when people see me cry. I'm not pretty when I cry. And people have no idea what to do when they see me cry. It scares them a bit – because I'm supposed to be the strong one. My goodness, sometimes the expectations are exhausting.

"Abigail?" A familiar gruff voice interrupts my thoughts.

 _Oh, no_. _Not him. Not now_.

I quickly pull myself together, dash my hand across my face to wipe away all trace of tears.

"Henry," I say calmly, as if nothing's wrong. "Good evening."

"Evenin', Abigail." Henry Gowen looks at me closely. "Is everything okay?"

He'll know – they'll all know sooner rather than later – but somehow I want to keep the news to myself for a little longer.

"I'm fine." I paste on a smile.

"Bull." He says quietly. "You don't need to pretend with me, Abigail. We've known each other too long."

He comes a little closer. I can smell him, must be the wind carrying his scent. He smells of whiskey and cigars, not an unpleasant smell. And his response, although blunt, was said somewhat gently. He's come a long way from the Henry I knew many years ago. Although I cannot forget what he's done, I've forgiven him.

Maybe years ago I wouldn't have forgiven him. I was a bit different then.

We've all changed over the years. Even Henry.

Fine. I might as well get this over with. No use hiding the truth. They'd all know soon enough.

"Constable Thornton was killed in the line of duty." I say, the words falling with the force of a gunshot into the quiet night, interrupted only by the sounds of crickets and the faint noise of laughter and music.

"When?" He asks.

"We were told tonight." I say, my voice trembling. It's getting colder now and I can't tell whether the chill is from the night air or from the loss. Maybe it's both.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he says gruffly. And I could hear the truth in his voice. He truly _is_ sorry, he's not just repeating a platitude.

"You two never got along." I snap slightly, instantly regretting my lapse of temper.

"No," Henry says evenly, "we had our fair share of … disagreements. But he was an honorable man. And he showed me a good turn. I don't forget that."

He must be referring to Jack's bachelor party. I heard about that later. It was a good thing for Jack to do, extending a hand in reconciliation. But that was the kind of man Jack is…. _was_ , I correct myself.

"How's Mrs. Thornton?" Henry asks, and I sense genuine concern.

"She's broken." I whisper. "I've never seen her like this."

"She's a strong woman," Henry comments quietly, "she'll get through this."

"How do you know?" I lash out again. I don't know what's gotten into me tonight. Well, I do – I just don't want to admit it to myself. I'm trying to be the perfect person, strong and capable. And sometimes, well, it gets tiring trying to be her.

Henry doesn't lash back, which surprises me a little still. I'm not used to this new Henry. The one with the calm and even temper. The, dare I say, GENTLER Henry? No, that's not the right word. Henry's not a gentle man. He's not even a kind man by nature. But he's getting there.

"I know loss." He says quietly. But that's all he says.

"I need to go," I say, uncomfortable with the silence growing between us. I feel vulnerable before him and I don't like that. I need to stay strong. In control.

I can feel him looking at me.

"I'm getting some tea for Elizabeth." I explain weakly.

"Okay," he says, "let me walk you over there."

I'm about to protest and say I'd be fine by myself but I stop when I see the look in his eyes. He gets it.

The company would be nice. Even if it was just Henry Gowen.

"That would be nice," I say, taking a deep breath.

And we stroll off towards the café in a quiet silence.


	5. Chapter 5

" _Even though there will always be sadness in life, there will always be hope too."_

⁃ Abigail

DISCLAIMER: **I own none of these characters or the quotes at the beginning of each chapter. They belong to Hallmark/Crown Media and Janette Oke. Consider this disclaimer applied to all following chapters.**

Abigail and Henry walk to her café in companionable, if sorrowful, silence. Abigail isn't totally sure what to make of this "new" Henry. He has done so much to hurt her, and hurt the town and the people she cares for. But she's always been one to look for the good in people. In fact, Bill always says that's her greatest weakness. But she knows that most – if not all – people are not 100% bad or 100% good.

Everyone is redeemable. Although sometimes she has doubts about some people – the Tolliver gang, for instance – or the mining company that, through their negligence, allowed her husband and son to die. _Thank the Lord He is more merciful than I_ , she thinks. _My only wish He would tell me what His plan is._

 _I still don't understand any of this – why Jack had to die and leave Elizabeth a widow. Why does our town keep having to take these losses? Aren't there enough widows in this town? I trust that You have a plan, Lord, but I wish you'd at least give me a hint as to what it is._

She steps inside and, to her surprise, Henry follows her. "You really don't need to stay," she says, giving him a small smile, despite the ache in her heart. "I can take the tea and food over to the infirmary." "I've got nothing better to do," he shrugs, "let me help, Abigail."

Abigail scrutinizes him but sees nothing but sincerity. Maybe his time in prison and his losing most everything of value (in his eyes) has been the making of him. Henry Gowan is certainly a more humbled man. His attitude, his demeanor, they've displayed a marked change. Occasionally, though, she sees glimpses of the old Henry – he and Bill, for example, will never be best of friends. And he can be gruff, abrasive, and downright rude.

But she feels that Someone is working on him. And who is she to get in the way?

"Please stay." She smiles.

Awkwardly, he takes his hat off and accompanies her inside. "Do you need help bringing anything?"

"I think I can manage the tea." She responds. "But if you could bring this basket…" Abigail begins to load up a basket full of muffins and cookies, some other food items. "They'll need some sustenance at the infirmary." She explains. "Elizabeth will too."

Henry takes the basket without a comment.

"I can't believe he's gone," she whispers as she puts the basket of food together, trying to keep her composure. She's the Mayor, she's supposed to be tough and strong. But she can't help the tears that are starting to come. Unwilling to let Henry see her vulnerable, Abigail concentrates on packing the essentials that might be needed in the days to come.

"Abigail." His raspy, hoarse voice interrupts her frantic attempts to pull herself together.

"What?" She whispers, wiping her hand across her face, trying to pull back the loose wisps of hair.

"Don't need to hide on my account." He says gruffly. "Not like I haven't seen tears before."

"I'm the Mayor," Abigail retorts, "aren't tears considered a weakness?"

"In business, sure," Henry agrees, "but this is not business and you're not mayor right now, at this moment."

"I thought you never took the mayor mantle off."

"I never did, no." He admits. "But I'm not…"

"…not a woman?" Abigail starts to get a little bit heated.

"I was going to say," Henry replies slowly, "I'm not YOU. We handle things differently. Just the way it is. Nothing wrong with it."

Abigail looks at him, "Do you have…I mean, do you ever get emotional?"

He gazes at her steadily, "Just ask me if I have emotions. That's what you were going to ask, right?"

She bites her lip apologetically.

"I'm human, Abigail, not a heartless piece of machinery. I have emotions. I just find them a weakness and a liability in most cases."

"I see." She says. And for a moment there's a heavy silence.

"I grew up dirt poor." Henry continues casually, "I'd go for days without food. I'd watch my father beat my mother. There was no room for weakness. And, in business, people will cut you to shreds if you show any sign of a heart. To get ahead, you have to put emotions aside."

"I don't want to be that person," Abigail whispers, "I'm _not_ that kind of person."

Henry shrugs. "No one asked you to."

"Didn't you?" She says shortly.

"I was trying to help you run this town. Not become me." He gave her a half-smile. "You'd do a pretty bad job of it anyway."

"I feel so helpless." She looks down at her hands, tears running down her face, despite her best effort to hold them back.

"You're doing just fine." Henry says quietly. And to her surprise and shock, he puts the basket down and hands her a handkerchief, gently grasping her hand. "I'm sorry about Constable Thornton," he tells her, "I know how much he meant to you and this town."

"Thank you, Henry." She blinks away the tears. "That means a lot coming from you."

"He was a good man. One of the few that showed me kindness. I don't forget that." He says awkwardly, hat in hand. They stand there for a moment and Henry drops his hand from hers, stepping back from Abigail quickly, as if uncomfortable at displaying any kind of emotion. He casts his eyes down, not wanting her to see any hint of his feelings. Understanding and respecting his discomfort, she wipes her face with his handkerchief.

It smells of cigar smoke and lumber. With a hint of cologne. It's a nice smell, she finds, full of the aroma of pepper, sage, and cloves. An elegant smell, yet earthy. _Henry Gowan_ , she thinks, _you are an interesting man_.

Abigail looks into his face quickly, but his eyes are still cast down. And she wonders what he's thinking. Wonders if he's prepared for her to rebuff him like everyone else has. To reject any hint of a friendship.

 _She would never want me. Never care for me. Why would she? I'm a convicted felon. I stole from this town. I didn't stand up to the mining company. And I should have._

 _I deserve nothing, from Mrs. Stanton, or this town._

Abigail interrupts his morose thoughts by reaching forward and gently kissing his cheek, as she did once before, much to his shock. "Thank you, Henry," she says quietly, "for everything." He starts to say something but she interrupts firmly, "No buts. You're doing good things and that tells me you're a good man."

"You don't know what you're talking about." Ah, there's the old Henry again. Rough, irascible, rude, the way he was before. _Quick, push her away before she starts to care and you hurt her. You don't deserve her friendship. You don't deserve anything good._

She doesn't buy his feeble snap one bit. "Henry Gowan, you frustrating man, you listen to me." Abigail says fiercely, "You may not have a lot of friends in this town because of what you did. But I _see_ you trying to change. Trying to make a difference. It may not mean much to you but it does to me. I will _never_ forget what you did for us at Christmas. You brought my family together and that means something. So don't you tell me I don't know what I'm talking about."

She's so heated right now, she's forgotten about her grief for a moment. Henry says nothing for a moment, just looks at her. And then gives her an almost smile.

"What are you smiling at?" Abigail says, a little less fiercely this time.

"I was just thinking…" Henry says slowly, thoughtfully, "that it wouldn't be a good idea to get between you and anyone _you_ care about."

She cracks a faint smile, "I do get a little bit momma bear."

"You're protective," Henry says, "that's a good thing."

"Did I just get a compliment from Henry Gowan?" Abigail breaks the heavy mood with a slight tease.

"Don't tell anyone." Henry says. "My reputation as town villain would never recover."

"Your secret is safe with me," Abigail holds up her hand solemnly, "you have my word."

"Good." He says and starts for the door, basket in hand. Shaking her head slightly, Abigail smiles faintly. Her first smile since the Mountie shattered their world.


End file.
